The Adventures of Diggle, Jones, and the Dursleys
by J.K.Paredes
Summary: After the Dursleys leave with Dedalus Diggle and Hestia Jones, Dudley finds himself in the wizarding world, where a pretty young witch named Astrid teaches him how to fly a broomstick, fight off Death Eaters, and have an adventure. Set during the Deathly Hallows. Click follow, because there's much more to come!
1. Chapter 1: The Dursleys Departing

Chapter 1

The Dursleys Departing

Dudley wasn't sure what to think of the tiny wizard jammed between him and his mother. Between his purple top hat and the watch that shrieked "About time!" as they pulled out of the driveway, he was sure his father wouldn't be able to take too much of this man. Dudley felt that if he had to choose between a talking timepiece and another encounter with those…dementors, the decision was easy.

"Where are we going, anyway?" Mr. Dursley spat, agitated to be so out of control in this situation. Dedalus addressed the quivering bush of a moustache reflected in the rearview mirror.

"Oh, it doesn't matter, really, good man," he squeaked. "Just as long as we get a fair distance away from your house."

Grumbling and twitching, Mr. Dursley stepped on the gas a little. Hestia Jones was looking out the passenger seat window, watching the manicured lawns and normal suburban households zip by with mild interest. Petunia seemed a little lost in thought for a few minutes, then snapped back to earth with a jolt as she spotted a neighbor she recognized.

"Vernon," she said warningly, with a look at the strangers in the car.

"Right," said Mr. Dursley, and he accelerated to a speed a little higher than was strictly necessary for a neighborhood drive at sunset. He hunched over the steering wheel and narrowed his eyes, the better to spot anyone who might see him in such abnormal company.

Dedalus reached over Dudley's hulk and began to play with the buttons on the door, delighted when the window whirred down to let summery air whip inside. In his excitement, his top hat fell on Petunia's lap, who flinched and batted it away.

"Exactly how far do we need to go?" Mr. Dursley bellowed.

"Oh, farther than this, to be sure! No one must suspect where we are headed!" Dedalus said.

Driving on with no particular destination in mind, Mr. Dursley did not enjoy the beauty of the dusky night falling around them. He merely mumbled through his bushy moustache, muttering about swerves and, "Shake 'em off." It was all the rest of them could do to keep him from pulling into a parking lot to spin donuts. Indeed, he was on the brink of insanity when a commotion in the sky halted his attempts at evasive maneuvers.

Dudley craned his neck out the window to look at the fireworks of green and red lighting up the dark sky. He strained to think what they could be for this time of year. Hestia and Dedalus exchanged dark glances and a few whispered words. Mr. Dursley opened his mouth to bark out another question.

But the demand did not make it out. There was a loud crash and the car lurched. Brakes squealed and the passengers felt the car lose control, spinning and swerving off the road. Dudley couldn't understand what was going on. His seatbelt clutched him hard and he heard his mother scream as a hand shot out of the darkness to grab his arm.

Darkness squeezed them. For a moment, Dudley flashed back to the fateful day when he had met those two dementors…pitch blackness, cold nothingness, and tight bands constricting him on all sides like the terrible, invisible hands of the creature who wanted his soul….

Then it lifted.

As Dudley and Petunia gulped the welcome country air, Dedalus brushed himself off and looked around.

"Oh, we've made it!

They were at the strangest house Dudley had ever seen. It appeared to be surrounded by blank country, windswept and dotted with trees, severed by a long, thin country lane winding into the distance. The house itself was white and tall, with so many stories neatly stacked up high and supported with stately columns that Dudley could hardly count them all. Curtained windows colored each floor, and the curly-eaves on the shingled roof gave the impression of gingerbread on top of a many-tiered wedding cake.

Unaffected by the overwhelming structure above her, Petunia rounded on Dedalus.

"Where's Vernon? Where's my husband?" she shouted shrilly at the little man.

He looked uncertain. Hesitantly, he opened his mouth to say something, but before he had to come up with an explanation, there was a loud crack beside them for the fourth time that evening.

Dudley flinched, expecting another brick wall to materialize from the sky, but it was only Hestia and his father, appearing from thin air with a pile of bags.

"We've lost him," said Hestia dispassionately as Mr. Dursley fell to his knees and clutched the grass, gasping and trying to understand that he had just disappeared from one place and popped back into existence in an entirely new spot. Petunia threw herself to the ground to help her husband. "I doubt he'll be waking up anytime soon. That was quite a blow," she said, looking at Dudley. "At least I managed to get the luggage." She gestured to the pile of bags that had appeared with her.

"That's wonderful, and we're all safe now," said Dedalus, removing his top hat and wiping his brow in relief. "Didn't expect a Death Eater to find us right of the mark like that."

"They weren't looking for us," said Hestia, heaving two of the bags into her arms and starting for the house. The Dursleys waited for a moment before realizing they were supposed to follow with the rest. Hestia raised her voice over Mr. Dursley's grumblings, "They were there for Potter. It looks like they ambushed him as soon as they left. I hope they're okay," she said with a frown. "I'll be writing to Mad-Eye tonight to make sure."

If the Dursleys understood a single word of this, they didn't bother to show it. They all stared at Hestia in a stupor after entering the house and dropping their sacks all over the threshold.

"Do you mean to say," said Mr. Dursley, "that those fireworks were actually some of…some of _your lot_ messing about?"

Hestia slowly turned to Mr. Dursley, finally realizing exactly how thick the man was.

"Yes," she said slowly and loudly, as though trying to make an overlarge sausage see sense. "It means that You-Know-Who's followers caught up to your nephew as he and his guard flew away. Those fireworks were spells, and by the look of it, there were a lot of curses flying above us tonight." She looked at Dedalus. "I don't think this was an accident. It may have been chance that one of them fell and recognized us, but they knew to be there to attack Harry tonight."

"Quite right," said Dedalus gravely. "We'll get to the bottom of this."

There was a somber silence for a moment as the Dursleys looked at them, still confused but afraid to ask any more questions. Then Hestia shook her head and looked around the house.

"Well, anyway, we got you lot here safely. Welcome to my home."

***Keep reading to discover a sneak peek of my next chapter, soon to be uploaded.***


	2. Chapter 2: Tea in the Magic House

For the first time, the Dursleys had a proper look around the witch's house. It was nothing like Dudley would have imagined a witch's house to look like, he thought. It was painted in very light pastel colors, and the ample amount of windows combined with the sparse yet comfortable-looking furniture produced what would surely be a light, airy effect during the day. For now it was dark except for a few gas-burning lamps glowing in the hall and drawing room. Dudley noticed a light-finished wooden spiral staircase nearby. He wandered over to it and looked straight up the middle of it. It seemed to go on forever; it dizzied him to try to trace it all the way up.

A face appeared far above him, peering down with vibrant blue eyes. Dark curls cascaded around the curious face, contrasting with all the light colors of the house. Then the face disappeared and Dudley heard the rumbling of footsteps as the person descended the steps.

Finally, a very pretty girl came into sight, rushing down the stairs to meet the strangers in her house. She must have been Dudley's age, maybe a year or two younger. He noticed her strange clothes – they were strange sweeping robes of the type magical people seemed to wear, a deeper navy than her eyes.

She only glanced at Dudley before striding past him and up to Hestia Jones.

"My parents are coming in a moment, Auntie. My dad's got to finish a letter."

"Say hello to the Dursleys, Astrid," Hestia said.

The girl called Astrid put on a polite smile and turned to Dudley's parents.

"I'm Astrid, Hestia's niece. Pleased to meet you." She held out her hand to Mr. Dursley, who looked at it contemptuously. Petunia half-hid behind her husband and inspected the young witch with beady, suspicious eyes. Slowly and awkwardly, Astrid lowered her hand and took a step backward. She caught Dudley's eye then, smiling hesitantly.

Dudley couldn't help but smile back nervously and wish his parents had been warmer to her. The girl seemed nice enough, even if she wasn't dressed normally. He thought the robes looked nice on her, actually. She looked away as her parents appeared in the hall.

Mrs. Lemming was Hestia's sister, though the resemblance was slight. While they were both tall women, Hestia had dark hair and Mrs. Lemming had strawberry blonde waves. Mr. Lemming was slightly shorter than his wife, though that could have been due to his hunched posture and thinning hair. He had the look of a man who had seen too much grief in his years, though the lines on his face were deeper at the corners of his eyes, suggesting he had spent much of his life laughing. He smiled at the Dursleys and offered a hand to welcome them like his daughter. His smile faded when they reacted the same way.

"Well, Dursleys, why don't I show you to your rooms, then?" Hestia piped up to cover the awkward moment. "I'll just lighten these a little…" She drew out her wand and Mr. Dursley barked, "Don't you magic our luggage! We don't want anything unnatural possessing our things!"

Hestia pursed her lips and blinked a few times, looking at the bags as though they were much too hopelessly large to carry up the stairs without use of a wand.

Dudley shouldered past his parents and hefted two bags in each hand. He easily followed the bemused hostess up the stairs. His parents came after him, his mother chirping about how polite he was carrying all the bags and his father muttering about, "none of this magic nonsense. Just good old fashioned muscle. That's my boy."

Dudley couldn't count all the stairs they climbed to get to their rooms. It must have been a hundred steps, he thought, because when he looked down the middle of the spiral it made him dizzy. Panting and nearly crawling, he and his family finally made it to their rooms.

"Why…the…ruddy…**** do we have to be so far up?" Mr. Dursley wheezed. "It's inhospitable to make guests climb seventeen floors just to get to their rooms!"

Hestia ignored him and dropped the bags in the middle of the room. There was only one large bed in here. She looked at Dudley.

"Your room is next door, boy. Didn't think you wanted to share with your parents."

Grateful for this information, he picked up his bag and went to the next room. It was smaller than his parents', with only a single bed, a small bedside table, and a compact armoire. A few knickknacks around the room gave it a magical feel, like a cuckoo clock chiming the hour with a bird that really flew and clucked. A throw rug that almost made him scream when it levitated under his feet to help him climb onto the bed.

Deciding that this was a bit too exciting for this time of night, he went downstairs to say goodnight to Dedalus and the Lemmings. He got as far as one floor away when he heard voices talking and a mention of his parents. He stopped to listen.

"…when we were leaving, they didn't even tell Harry they loved him. Couldn't even shake his hand! I shudder to think what kind of treatment he received living there."

"But that could mean anything," said a voice Dudley thought was Mrs. Lemming's. Dedalus didn't let her finish.

"They didn't even know where he was going! They said, off with some of 'our lot', whatever that means. I get the feeling they don't feel warmly about magic. Just look at the way they've been treating you!" he squeaked despairingly.

"The son seemed alright," said a warm, quiet voice Dudley recognized as the girl's, Astrid's. His stomach gave a funny lurch at the words. The others ignored her.

"Well, they'll just have to get used to magic, because we have a lot of things to do around here," said Mr. Lemming. "How long will they be staying? Only Lee's going to be getting here in a month."

"There will be plenty of room, Carlisle," said Mrs. Lemming. "You've seen this place."

"It's not the room. They're _muggles_. I don't want to shock them too much. It feels uncomfortable enough having them in my home, but around so much magic? You're sure this is alright?"

Dudley had heard enough. He purposely made a racket coming down the last few steps and following the voices through the hall and into the kitchen. Everyone stared as he entered.

A kettle of tea was steeping on the stove. Hestia, Dedalus, and the Lemmings were all huddled around clutching mugs.

"Alright, Dudley? We were just about to bring a tray of tea up to you and your parents. Want some?" Mrs. Lemming held out a cup to him.

Dudley took it with quiet thanks. It was silent for a moment as everyone sipped at their drinks and tried to think of something to say. Dudley shuffled his feet.

"So…" said Mr. Lemming after a moment. "Dudley, you're Harry Potter's cousin? I bet you're really good friends. Like brothers, maybe?"

Dudley shrugged and sipped his tea. He didn't know what to say. All these people seemed to like Harry so much. What was he supposed to say? "Harry was my favorite punching bag in grade school" seemed a trifle inappropriate.

"Harry and I get on okay," was all he could come up with. The room sipped collectively.

"I heard you once met the Weasleys, well, Fred and George and Ron. I heard their sister, Ginny, say something about that once. Do you know them?"

Dudley wracked his brain, trying to think of these people she talked of. Then it came to him.

"Red hair?" he blurted. Astrid beamed.

"Yes, you remember! Fred and George are so funny, aren't they? I only know them distantly, because they're a few years older than me, but everyone knows they're always good for a laugh."

Dudley grimaced at the memory of meeting the red-haired twins and tried to make it an innocent smile. Did Astrid know the whole story? He truly hoped she didn't. It would be much too embarrassing.

Everyone in the kitchen latched onto the topic as if it would save their lives. Words of how lovely the Weasley family was spouted out of every mouth. Mrs. Lemming piped up that she would bring the tea up to the Dursleys and left amid talk of the red haired family everyone seemed to love. Astrid focused on talking to Dudley.

"Ginny, the girl, she's in my year but in Gryffindor, so I don't know her as well as I'd like, but she's always really nice. She was dating your cousin last year, so he might have mentioned her? Or her brother, Ron, cause he's Harry's best friend."

Dudley didn't really know how to respond, so he just let her talk. Apparently Harry had a girlfriend. News to him. Oh, she was talking again.

"…and then, Fred or George or whoever it was, said, 'see you' and they hopped on their brooms and flew away out the window! The look on Umbridge's face was so brilliant, and the fireworks were going off for weeks! I was only a fourth year but it was so incredible…"

Dudley didn't quite know how to follow, though he could tell it was a really good story. He nodded and listened and wondered how his scruffy cousin could have a girlfriend when everyone was after him, and he himself couldn't even get up the courage to ask a girl out. What was it everyone liked so much about Harry?

When the tea was all gone the room exchanged yawning good nights and shuffled off. Dudley walked a two flights of stairs with Astrid before she announced her stop and left him to walk the rest alone.

As he got into a magically warm and comfortable bed, he thought not of sweets that made your tongue a slimy monster or of how a brick wall had fallen out of the sky that day. He thought of the girl a few floors down, who had smiled and wished him a good night, and wondered if his cousin wasn't the only one who could get a girl.


	3. Chapter 3: Questions and Answers

Dudley woke to the distant sound of shouting. He mumbled and turned over in his bed, vaguely remembering that it wasn't his own bed at home. In the room next door, a growl of, "What's this racket, then?" came muffled through the wall.

The magical cuckcoo clock said it was half-past seven. Groaning at the early hour, Dudley flopped back onto his pillow and knew he couldn't sleep anymore. Not when he was in a house full of wizards.

It was odd thinking the word _wizards_ without fear. Dudley still felt suspicious towards magical people but this lot seemed ok, mostly. Especially Astrid. She was really nice.

A slamming door reverberated through the house, then all was quiet downstairs. Dudley got up and pulled on some jeans and a shirt from his case. Then, thinking it wouldn't hurt to look nice, he checked his hair in the mirror.

He gasped. A his hair was a bright, obnoxious green! In horror, he ran his fingers through it, wondering what happened. He couldn't leave the room looking like this.

Frantically, he rummaged through his pack for a hat. Finding a blue cap his father had given him, he shoved it on and looked in the mirror again.

His hair was no longer green. But his nose! It was gigantic! It must be eight inches long! Dudley felt for it…but it wasn't there on his face. In the mirror he looked like he was picking his nose, but he could only feel his normal nose on his face.

Then he got it. Magical mirror. Makes you look funny.

He scoffed and left the room, resolving never to look in that mirror again. Lot of good it did him.

Pausing on the staircase, Dudley considered looking in on his parents before going down, but thought better of it. His father was shouting more complaints about magic and wizards. Perhaps a year or two ago, Dudley would have felt the same way, but lately things had changed. Ever since Harry had saved him from those horrible creatures two summers ago, he had realized that maybe some wizards were good and some were bad, like normal people. After all, complaining did no good here. It would just offend the people trying to protect them.

When he entered the kitchen, Mr. Lemming and Dedalus were sitting at the table with cups of coffee and Mrs. Lemming was starting to prepare some breakfast with her wand. Several pieces of bacon flopped onto the griddle and a pitcher of orange juice was stirring itself. Dudley tried not to stare. Mrs. Lemming sighed, turned around, and jumped.

"Oh! Good, you're up! Breakfast will be ready soon, if you want to have a seat. You look hungry."

Finally, something Dudley could understand. Food.

He smiled and sat down while Mrs. Lemming placed a plate of muffins in front of him. Mr. Lemming wished him a good morning, in his gruff, gray way, while Dedalus stood, removed his hat, and bowed low. Dudley nodded to both of them before sitting. Muffled grumbles of his father sounded down the stairs.

"Hope your parents are getting on alright," Mr. Lemming said worriedly. "Maybe they're having trouble with the toilet? I suppose they're not used to dealing with enchantments gone awry."

"The toilet is enchanted?" Dudley said.

"Well, not on purpose. I don't know how it got that way, actually. But it does have a tendency to shout insults up your arse when you sit down," Mr. Lemming admitted sheepishly. Dudley tried very hard not to let orange juice spray out his nose while he held back laughter. "And sometimes it may squirt you when you flush. But only if he insults it back."

A mental image of his father returning rude comments to a toilet and subsequently receiving a large squirt of his own poo popped into Dudley's head.

"Maybe I should go check on them…" Mr. Lemming suggested.

"No, don't bother. He'll need some time to cool off after something like that," Dudley said, chuckling under his breath as he buttered a muffin.

The kitchen was a friendly place, though not as spotless as his mother's. The cabinets were painted a cheery yellow, and a row of flowers decorated the window box. Dudley thought it was a rather comfortable place, made a home by the smell of frying bacon and warm blueberries.

Just as things were starting to look rather familiar, a fluffy, gray object rocketed through the window and landed on the table. Dudley jumped back in alarm, but Mr. Lemming just reached for the newspaper attached to the owl's leg. Dudley looked nervously at the door, hoping his father didn't come in just yet. He hated owls.

Mr. Lemming placed a strange silver coin in the pouch of the leg of the owl and it took flight, zooming right out the window again. Then the man leaned back in his seat, opening the paper.

"Argh. This paper was hardly reliable even before the Death Eaters started running it."

"Death Eaters?" Dudley said. "Those are the people that are after us, right?"

He peered at Dudley over the top of his silver, rectangular spectacles.

"Of course, boy. They're You-Know-Who's followers. His inner circle," said Dedalus.

"You-Know-Who? That Voldemort guy?"

There came a loud clatter and a squeak. Dedalus had fallen off his chair at the same time Mrs. Lemming had dropped a plate. Everyone stared at him.

"What are you on about, saying the name in here?" Mr. Lemming said gruffly. Dudley felt frozen. He didn't realize he had done something wrong.

"You don't say the name, lad," said Dedalus, clutching his hat to his heart. "No one says the name. Call him You-Know-Who or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

Mrs. Lemming brought out her wand and caused the broken plate to repair itself and jump back into her hands.

"I'm sorry…I didn't know. Harry always calls him V—I mean, he always says the name."

"Well, that all fine for Mr. Potter," scoffed Mr. Lemming, straightening his spectacles. "He's bleeding _Harry Potter_, I mean. He and Dumbledore were never scared of the name, but the rest of us are, so don't you go saying that in our house."

"Sorry," Dudley apologized shamefully.

"It's alright, dear," Mrs. Lemming said, throwing her husband a don't-be-so-harsh look and placing a few strips of bacon on his plate. "We just weren't expecting it. No harm done."

"Why is everyone so scared of the name?" Dudley asked. He was starting to feel so confused that he wondered if he would ever understand what was going on anymore.

"You weren't there the first time, but last time You-Know-Who was gaining power, things were very bad," Mr. Lemming explained. "Not just for wizards, but muggles too. Dark times then, just like now. You never knew who was on your side and who wasn't. Death Eaters terrorized the streets. Dementors roamed wherever they pleased."

Dudley shuddered. He was starting to understand what that must have been like.

"And then, You-Know-Who decided to go after your aunt and uncle and cousin. No idea why, but he killed Lily and James just like all those other innocent people. And then, strange thing, he went after your cousin, Harry. He was only a baby, but the curse didn't work on him. I guess it went wrong or something, cause the next thing we knew, You-Know-Who was gone and all his followers had made a run for it. Little baby Harry was sent to live with you lot and everything was good again. Except that it wasn't permanent, because he's back, and things are getting bad again."

"What does You-Know-Who want?" Dudley asked.

"Power, control," Mr. Lemming replied. "And wizard-supremacy. He thinks that if you're not a pureblood—a wizard born from all magical ancestors—then you're scum. Muggle-borns and muggles are second class to him."

"That's stupid," Dudley said indignantly. Just because he didn't have a silly little magic wand to play with didn't mean he wasn't as good as anyone else.

"But a whole lot of people agree with him, Dudley. And that's why you're in danger. All muggles are, really, but your family especially because you're tied to the one person who has ever survived a run in with You-Know-Who. Several times, by the sound of it," Mr. Lemming added, draining the rest of his coffee. "That cousin of yours can really put up a fight."

Dudley though about all the times he had beat Harry up when they were little. It was hard to imagine that skinny little boy growing up to take on the most evil wizard to ever live. No wonder everyone thought Harry was so cool.

"But how is this protection? I mean, if this You-Know-Who guy is as powerful as everyone thinks, why can't he find us here right out in the open?"

"Trust me boy, it may seem like we're out in the open, but there are extremely powerful charms set on this place. No one can come within a hundred feet without our consent," Dedalus Diggle squeaked. "On top of that, we apparated here. No one can trace that. You could be anywhere."

Just then, Dudley's parents entered the kitchen. Mr. Dursley looked extremely put out for one who had only woken up an hour ago. Dudley noticed his hair was slightly wet. Mrs. Dursley looked jumpy, but placated to see her son being fed.

Hestia soon followed and the kitchen was starting to feel claustrophobic. Mrs. Lemming kept throwing worried glances out the window, expecting to see something. Just as Dudley was about to leave for somewhere a little less crowded, Mrs. Lemming approached him with another plate.

"Dudley, I wonder if you could do a favor for me. You see, Astrid is a bit mad at me and her father this morning, and she ran off without eating anything. I wonder if you would mind taking this to her?" She held out the plate bearing a muffin, some bacon, and an apple. "I'm pretty sure she doesn't want to talk to me, but she wouldn't mind seeing you. She's probably in the garden shed out back. Do you mind?"

Dudley rather wanted to refuse. He had no idea how to talk to an upset girl. But his mouth said yes, his hands took the plate, and his feet walked off to find Astrid.


	4. Chapter 4: The Greatest Sport

Chapter 4

The Greatest Sport in the World

The sun shone brightly outside and Dudley could see a beautiful, lonely countryside dappled with trees and meadows. A garden buzzing with bees sprawled out to the side of the house, complete with rusty watering can. A dirt path lead around the house to a small wooden shed a bit like a stable. The door was ajar.

Dudley poked his head into the dark shed to find a melancholy Astrid sitting on a high wooden bench, swinging her feet. No longer wearing robes, she looked almost like a muggle in jeans and a sweatshirt. She looked up as he stepped in.

"Your mum thought you'd be hungry," he said sheepishly, noticing her eyes were a bit puffy.

"Oh, thanks," she said, wiping her eyes. "You can come in." She scooted over on the bench to allow room for him.

He sat down next to her, scanning the shed. Several funny shaped brooms lined the wall, polished to a high gloss. A large bucket held several different sizes of balls, for sports, he assumed.

Astrid took the muffin and looked down at it.

"I s'pose you know, then," Astrid said glumly, looking at her feet without eating. Dudley wasn't sure what he was supposed to know. "It's not exactly a secret. I should have guessed anyway. All this stuff going on, Dumbledore's death…Hogwarts isn't the safest place in the world anymore."

"What do you mean?" Dudley asked.

"It should have been obvious. Lots of students aren't going back, I'm sure."

"You aren't going back? To…to Hogwarts?"

Astrid shook her head, sniffing. Her voice cracked as she spoke. "I found out this morning. I probably won't ever get to go back."

She leaned on Dudley's shoulder, sobbing.

Dudley stiffened. This was exactly what he had been afraid of. Feeling awkward, he put his arms around her and she hugged him back. Should he say something? He couldn't imagine what. If he told her what he was thinking, that he was rather glad she wouldn't be leaving for school so soon, he would sound insensitive. And the last thing he wanted was for her to cry more. He hated seeing her so sad.

He rubbed her back with his hand, and as he did so, felt her stiffen a bit. She broke away, wiping her eyes and biting her lip.

"Sorry," she said thickly. "I shouldn't…um. Yeah. Sorry."

"It's alright. You're upset."

"Thanks for being so kind," she said, not meeting his eyes. He blushed. He didn't think anyone had ever said that to him before, barring his mother. "And for bringing food! I suppose my mum sent it with you because I ran out before breakfast."

Dudley had almost forgotten about the plate of food he had come out with. He handed it to her.

"It's probably cold by now," he said.

"That's alright. I'm hungry enough that I don't care." She took a bite of the apple and gave him a little smile as she chewed. He was very relieved she was no longer crying.

Trying not to just stare at her as she ate, he looked around the room in search of something else to talk about. He laid eyes on the broomsticks again.

Before he could ask what they were for, she started talking. "These are all for practice. They're not all mine, only the Nimbus and my old Comet-Two-Sixty. The other ones are for my parents, but they don't like to play much anymore. Mostly my dad just tosses up balls for me to practice with. But," she sighed a little, "I guess there's no point in that anymore. I can't be a Chaser if I don't go back to school. I can't even do magic on my own for another four months."

Dudley wasn't sure how stupid he would sound asking what she was on about, especially because she seemed to have no idea she was talking nonsense.

She stood up and took the shiniest broom down.

"At least I can still fly," she said quietly, fingering her broomstick.

"Fly?" said Dudley. She looked at him.

"Yeah. I was going to try out for the Quidditch team this year. Hufflepuff's not that good, you see, and I thought I might be able to help that. So much for playing chaser with Violet," she sighed.

Dudley was starting to get a headache from all the questions in his head. He had never wanted to learn so much before. The first question came out before he could stop it.

"What's Kwiddich?" he said thickly, then immediately wished he hadn't said anything at all. He might have asked "What's England?" the way Astrid looked. She appeared so dumbfounded at these words that he thought her jaw had unhinged.

"Are you effing serious? You live with Harry Potter, _the Harry Potter_ and you don't even know what Quidditch is?"

Dudley stared at her blankly, then shrugged. Astrid swore and went on.

"You're related to the youngest seeker in a century and you don't even know what that means? Did you know your cousin at all?"

Dudley looked at his feet and shuffled them, wanting very much to leave the company of the pretty girl who thought him so stupid. He waited for her to say something, but she didn't. She wasn't looking at him anymore but at the strange broom again, now holding it in one hand. Without looking at him, she strode out of the shed. Stopping at the door, she turned her head to him and peered with bright, mischievous eyes.

"Quidditch is a sport," she said shortly, then she threw one leg over the broom and kicked off from the ground.

And then Dudley understood. Just as he was getting used to thinking of wizards as mostly normal people, too. Astrid was a witch, and witches fly on broomsticks.

He bolted out the shed to look for her. There she was, up in the sky, looping upside down like a reckless bird. She was very high up when suddenly the broomstick pointed straight downward.

She was hurtling downward out of control! Dudley ran, holding out his arms, praying he could save her before she closed that last few feet to the ground—

_Whish_! She turned herself up again at the last instant, the tail of her broom nearly grazing Dudley's cheek. In shock, he lost his balance and landed on his backside with a thud.

Next to him, Astrid had smoothly dismounted and was giggling at Dudley for his silly position on the grass. Mortified, he stood and brushed himself off.

"Alright, out with it. Are you really Harry Potter's cousin?"

Taken aback by the question, Dudley responded with surprise. "Yeah. Why else would Death Eaters be after my family?"

"But seriously, how could you not know about Quidditch?! It's the greatest sport in the world!"

She launched into an explanation of a curious sport played in the magical world, with all players on brooms in the air and four different balls and fifty-foot-high goal hoops. It was fascinating to Dudley, who had always thought any sport that didn't involve punching was a pansy game, but this was different. Two of the balls would go around trying to bludgeon people to death, and there were special players who had to beat them off to protect their team and try to hit the other. A foul was a serious offense because a person didn't just get hurt, they got hurt and nearly plummeted to their death. Also, since there was no time or point limit, the game could go on forever until the Seeker caught the Snitch.

"Harry's a seeker, and a bloody good one too," Astrid said, finally taking a breath. "The youngest Hogwarts has had in a century, I've heard. Only been beat once, and that was because there were a couple of rouge Dementors on the field."

Dudley nearly flinched. That would be horrific. Still, he didn't like the way she talked about Harry. Like he was a legend or something.

"You know," said Astrid offhandedly. "I bet muggles could fly. I mean, the enchantment is on the broomstick. Maybe…you'd like a go?" She looked at him.

"M-me? Ride on a…broom? Up in the air?" Dudley gulped. True, he had just been imagining what it would be like to fly, but actually do it? He would make a fool of himself.

However, when he looked into Astrid's eyes, which were shining with excitement, he knew he would do anything she asked.


	5. Chapter 5: Natural Born Beater

Chapter 5

Natural Born Beater

The day before, if anyone had told Dudley that soon he would be fitting his thick bottom on a broomstick and attempting to fly, he would probably have punched them. But one look from Astrid Lemming in her eye-batting, biting-lip way, and he was ready to fly to the moon.

His broomstick was called a Comet-Two-Sixty, he learned. He was trying to listen to everything Astrid was saying, but it was hard because he had just noticed she had a light dusting of freckles across her cheeks, and sometimes she wrinkled her nose in the cutest way. He very much wanted to tuck that curly black hair behind her ears, just for the chance to touch it—but no. She was teaching him to fly. He'd better listen.

"…you'll want to grip the handle firmly, with both hands. Once you get off the ground, you can use that fixture on the bottom—those are footholds. The broom is well-enchanted, so you have to trust it will keep you balanced upright. Got it?"

Dudley nodded, trying hard to remember all she had said.

"Above all, just remember, flying is mostly instinct," she said. "I can tell you're big on instincts. So it should be easy for you not to overthink things. Just feel what you need to do."

That he could understand. In fact, it even made him smile.

He pushed up from the ground and felt his feet lock into the footholds and his body lean forward. She was right. This was pretty easy. As soon as he thought he'd like to move forward, his broom complied, slowly moving forward. He leaned closer to the broom and it went faster.

He heard a whoop from below and looked down. Thirty feet below him, Astrid was cheering him on. As his spirits lifted higher, so did he. He decided to try and circle around.

As it turned out, flying was amazing. Dudley had had his worries: would he be too heavy, would the broom not listen to a muggle, would he crash? But this wasn't so bad at all. He bet even Harry hadn't been as good as him his first time flying.

Landing, however, was another matter. He managed to direct the broom to the ground but it came up a bit suddenly and he stumbled on impact, but at least he didn't fall.

Astrid was ecstatic. She ran to him, leaping and whooping, and collided into him with a hug. Euphoric, Dudley returned the hug enthusiastically, picking her up and swinging her around. She squealed but didn't resist much, though she was noticeably frazzled when he put her back down.

"Er, ok. Well, that was really good, for a muggle," she said, biting her lip.

"For a muggle?"

She laughed, "Ok, ok, that was a fantastic first go for _anyone_. But don't get a big head about it. There is such a thing as beginner's luck."

"We'll see," said Dudley, once more swinging his leg around his broom and kicking off, rather more confident than Astrid had expected.

The two spent the rest of the day flying. As soon as Astrid felt confident in Dudley's ability to fly well enough on his own, she mounted her Nimbus and joined him in the air. They played with the Quaffle and Bludgers Astrid had, and Dudley found he had quite the knack for playing Beater. Even Astrid, who had seen many a Quidditch match, told him that she had rarely seen such talent or strength in a Beater before, even in some of the professional games she'd seen. She said this while biting her lip, and Dudley was beginning to recognize that as a sign of shyness, maybe nervousness.

Even once they had made it back to the ground, Dudley still felt like he was high in the air. He had really flown, on a broomstick! And Astrid had been impressed with him. There was a spring in his step he had never experienced before (despite the fact that his legs and bottom were very sore after sitting on a thin rod for so long; they smarted every time he took a step).

Astrid told her parents of the exciting day while Dudley went off to find what his parents had been up to all day.

He found them in their rooms with Hestia and Dedalus, scanning clippings of the _Daily Prophet_. Figures, thought Dudley. If his dad couldn't follow the muggle news much anymore, he would sure want to follow some sort of government-goings-on, even if he had to read from a newspaper with moving pictures.

Mr. Dursley was sitting on the bed, grumbling to Dedalus and Hestia as Dudley entered. "But shouldn't the Ministry take care of all that? I mean, all this ruddy nonsense—people magicking each other to do stuff against their will—it's common sense just to wipe 'em all out."

"Well, it's nearly impossible to detect when someone is under the Imperius Curse," said Hestia, sounding a bit bored and exasperated. It sounded like she had been explaining this all day. "The only way to be sure that no one is under control of a dark wizard is to kill the wizard who cast the curses. But there are rather a lot of them, and very hard to find and pin down. But the real reason the Ministry can't take out these dark wizards is that the Ministry itself is corrupt. Very few people left there have any honorable intentions—whether it's because they're cursed or because they're just naturally horrible people with too much power. That's what the Order is around for. We're working on the Ministry, but our top priority is protecting people from them."

"You call this protection from wizards?" Mr. Dursley snapped. "I was assaulted by a teacup today! That's not natural, nor is it protection!"

"Exactly," mumbled Petunia, who wasn't really paying attention. She was sitting on the floor immersed in a stack of magazines, most of which seemed to be _Witch Weekly_.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Dursley," said Hestia in a commanding voice. Dudley was surprised she had such force in her. Mr. Dursley's face went from beet-red to sickly white at the tone. "But you no longer live in the muggle world, where everything is nice and normal and non-magical. You're involved in this, and one would think you'd act more grateful, considering the fact that if we hadn't taken you here, you'd be in a dungeon somewhere at wand-point, being tortured by dark wizards for information on your nephew. So if I were you, I'd buck up and learn how to protect myself, because if you keep acting like this, no one will want to offer you any sort of help."

She crossed to the door and left in a sweep of purple robes, leaving a very put out Mr. Dursley behind her. Petunia had looked up from her gossip as Hestia had talked, and had a very disapproving look on her face.

Dedalus straightened his top hat and bowed to Mr. Dursley. "Sorry about that," he squeaked. "She's had a rough time since Dumbledore passed. I must go speak to her."

He left then too, quickly because Mr. Dursley's moustache was quivering in a threatening way.

"No manners at all," he growled. "The lot of them." He turned to Dudley. "There you are! We were beginning to think you had disappeared or something, boy. What have you been up to?"

Dudley thought about his day. He had ridden a broomstick for the first time, and found he was rather good at it. He had also spent the entire day in the company of Astrid, the kindest, prettiest girl Dudley could imagine, but she was also a witch. He understood how his dad would feel about Dudley's day, so he avoided the question.

"I found some weights to practice with, in the shed out back," he said.

His father delighted to hear it. "Good boy, keeping up your strength. At least someone had a normal, productive day."

Mrs. Dursley nodded vaguely, flipping another page of her tabloid. A knock came on the door frame behind Dudley. Astrid was there.

"Dinner's almost ready, if you would like to come down," she said politely.

As the Dursleys followed Astrid downstairs, Dudley thought about plans for tomorrow. In addition to flying some more, he must remember to ask her more about what it was like to grow up in a magical household and go to a magical school. He wanted to know everything about her life.


	6. Chapter 6: Parental Problems

Chapter 6

Parental Problems

An entire week flew by in which Dudley smiled and laughed more genuinely than he had in his whole life. Every day he and Astrid would sneak off far away from the house, almost to the edges of the magical protection of the property so that the few trees dotting the fields would mostly hide them from view of Dudley's parents. The summer sky beamed blue at them as they secretly practiced Quidditch, finding joy in every minute of their time together.

Dudley sometimes felt guilty for enjoying himself so much. Every so often, Hestia or Dedalus would receive news about someone dying or something horrible happening. The Ministry had been completely taken over by Death Eaters and everyone on Dumbledore's side was now in hiding. But Dudley didn't feel the effect of all that. His days were spent soaring through the country air.

On this particular day, Astrid was teaching Dudley how to keep goals so that she could practice chasing. Whenever she talked about it, Dudley could see an excitement hiding a deep sadness. He knew she was really torn up about not going back to Hogwarts. The best he could do was let her play with him.

Dudley hovered between two tall trees, focusing on Astrid's moves. She held the Quaffle under one arm, circling like a hawk examining its prey.

She made a sudden swerve. Dodging smoothly past him, she moved to chuck the ball through the the trees.

Not about to give up, Dudley raced after her and clumsily collided with her broom. She shrieked and clung to him so she wouldn't fall. The Quaffle dropped to the ground.

"Foul!" she cried.

"No it isn't."

"Yes it is!"

"Did I hurt you?" he said with a smirk.

"N-no. But that's still against the rules!" Through her irritation, she hid a smile. He knew he was forgiven.

"Is it? Well so is this!" He grabbed her and pulled her off her broom. She screamed and clung to him, but he knew she was safe in his arms. He flew around in a wide circle, gripping the broom with one hand and Astrid with the other. Screams turned to laughter, though she didn't loosen her hold. Riderless, the Nimbus drifted back to the ground.

Dudley enjoyed the feel of Astrid holding him for a few moments more, then consented to take her back to the ground. As soon as their feet touched down, she staggered away from him, biting her lip and blushing beneath her freckles.

"Sore loser, aren't you?" she joked.

"Yep," Dudley admitted. "I take what I want."

She looked up. "What exactly did you want? To stop me scoring or to scare me?"

Dudley thought for a minute. Neither was the true reason, but he didn't want to say that. "Both," he replied.

Astrid giggled. "You're insufferable."

"I think I'm pretty sufferable, actually."

She snorted with laughter, and Dudley wondered whether _sufferable _was a real word.

Astrid picked up her broom. "We should get back soon. Your parents will be wondering where you are."

"They can get on without me," he said, his spirits dropping at the mention of his parents. It certainly wasn't the first time he had lied to them about where he went, but this was somehow worse than all those summers spent with his gang in Surrey. His parents would make up excuses for him if they learned what he was doing then, but if they knew he was flying on broomsticks and talking about magic with a witch—he was sure they would never understand.

Astrid seemed to sense what was the matter.

"You know, I don't think you're giving them enough credit. If you talked to them, they really might try to understand—"

"They won't," he said simply. "They hate magic. They pretended it didn't exist for the first eleven years of my life. And after that they only talked about it in whispers. They think it's evil and unnatural."

"I…I don't understand. How could they raise your cousin thinking that? Harry is famous in the wizarding world. I can't imagine him growing up with your mum and dad if they hated magic."

"Look." Dudley sighed, facing Astrid. The summer light was beginning to fade. Sunset would be coming on soon. "My parents never really treated Harry like a son. They were afraid of him. I was too, until recently. I had always heard that magic was evil and corrupt. Looking back on it now… Harry was right. I really am stupid."

Astrid processed this for a moment, then stepped closer to him.

"You're not stupid," she said quietly. Dudley met her eyes shyly.

"You'd be the first to say it," he mumbled.

She smiled a little. "Anyone who thinks you're stupid is a fool. It's obvious you're not. You have a gift."

Dudley raised his eyebrows at her.

"A gift to simplify things," she said. "Too many people in this world complicate things far beyond what's necessary. They stress themselves out and whip through life in a nervous wreck, thinking too much about all the things that can make their lives worse. But you don't. You just see what is, and if it looks good to you, it can be a part of your life. You don't spend all your time talking nonsense like you're so smart to do so. You just say what you think, play to your strengths, and live your life."

Astrid took his hand and Dudley's heart did a funny leap. "I think you're really brave, you know. You've lived your whole life thinking that all charms are curses, and now you're here with me, learning to fly. That takes a lot of courage. I bet if you went to Hogwarts, you'd be in Gryffindor."

Having listened to her explanation of Hogwarts and its houses, Dudley knew this was a large compliment. He didn't know what to say.

In a final act of rendering him speechless, she leaned up on her toes and kissed his cheek. He felt himself go red.

"You're not a muggle, Dudley. It's just that your magic is different from mine."

* * *

The closer they came as they walked back to the broom shed, the more Dudley saw he had cause to worry. His parents were standing by the shed, watching as he and Astrid approached, incriminatingly holding broomsticks.

"Uh oh," Astrid said quietly.

His father was staring him down, his arms folded. His mother looked morbid.

In all his life, Dudley had never heard his father yell at him. At Harry, plenty. But the way he looked now, as though he was about to explode, Dudley realized that today might break the status quo.

The two young people stopped in front of the older couple, facing off woman to woman and man to man.

Mr. Dursley spoke first.

"What's this, then?"

Dudley didn't know what to say except the truth.

"Astrid is teaching me how to fly a broom."

There was a long silence in which Mr. Dursley's face slowly shifted from cherry red to an ugly maroon.

"Dudley, do you understand what you're doing?" he snapped. Before Dudley could answer his father had raged on. He broke into a pace as he spoke.

"Just because we're staying with magic folk doesn't mean you get to pretend you're one of them, boy! I thought we raised you better than this! I thought we made it ABSOLUTELY CLEAR that you were never to mess around with all this nonsense! It's dangerous and preposterous! FLYING? ON A BROOM? You may have broken your neck!" Petunia nodded in worried agreement of this.

Dudley didn't move a muscle. He wished Astrid weren't here listening. She didn't deserve to be yelled at. She had stepped back slightly, almost hiding behind him. Dudley thought he might just push her all the way behind him to shield her. She seemed to shrink at his father's words while, curiously, Dudley felt them absorb and transform into anger inside him.

"And that's not even the real problem, here! You would never have lost your good senses if you hadn't been gallivanting around, consorting with the likes of that girl! _No son of mine is tricked by a rotten little witch!_"

Dudley broke. He would hear no more of this, especially not while Astrid was there.

"YOU COWARD!" he screamed, effectively shutting his father up. "I used to look up to you! But I see now—you're just like them! Those Death Eaters and all those guys who hate muggles just because they're different! But you're worse—you don't just hate people because they're different—you're also afraid of them. And that makes you a coward!"

Grabbing Astrid's arm, Dudley lead the way back into the house and up the stairs. Still holding their brooms, they made their way up to the landing of Astrid's bedroom, where she pulled him inside.

It was a long time before either of them spoke. Anger still coursing through Dudley's veins, he looked around the girl's bedroom.

It smelled nice. Like flowers. The walls were a soft ivory color and the bedspread a buttery yellow on which a honeysuckle pattern was embroidered. He noticed a lot of books and crumpled parchment on a small desk. Potted plants sat in the corner and on the windowsill. A faded banner of yellow and black spelled Hufflepuff above a little white vanity table.

Despite how angry he still felt, he couldn't deny the calming, warming effect the room had. It was a sanctuary, absolutely reflective of Astrid's sweet personality.

He noticed something else. A rucksack next to the bed. It seemed full.

"What's that?" he asked, pointing to it.

"Oh, something Hestia told me to do. She said to always have a bag packed with essentials in case we had to make a quick getaway from intruders. I packed it but I doubt we'll ever use it. But you know… just to be sure."

"Maybe I should pack one too," he said.

"Might be a good idea."

There was another pause. Astrid looked like she had something to say, but was hesitant. Dudley sighed, running his hand through his hair.

He was about to say something when a knock came on the door.

"Come in," Astrid said, not about to come between Dudley and his parents again.

Petunia Dursley peeked in. Meekly, she said, "Might I have a quick word with you Dudley? Just us two?"

Astrid nudged him from behind, and Dudley followed his mother out the room and into his own.

"I know I haven't told you much about your aunt," Petunia said, not making eye contact with her son as she sat on his unmade bed. Dudley was surprised she was talking about this now. He had expected her to try to talk him into apologizing to his father. "She's rather hard for me to talk about, actually. Of course, she was a witch, and so it has hardly been appropriate. But now…" She put her hand on her son's knee. "I think maybe you might like to hear about her."

All he had heard about his Aunt Lily was that she was a good-for-nothing. She had run off with a bum and had a kid and then got herself killed. In the past few years, however, Dudley was finding less and less truth in his parents account. From what he heard, Lily had been a respected member of the wizarding community, and a valued participant in the first Order of the Phoenix. Valued enough to be targeted by You-Know-Who himself.

"Lily was always a bit…adventurous," Petunia said. "She would practice magic with a boy from our neighborhood. Nasty little kid, if you ask me. But Lily had a way of seeing the good in people. Even when I wasn't nice to her, she was still loyal to her big sister.

"I confess, I was…jealous of her. Our parents adored her. She had powers I could only imagine having. And every year, she went off to that school to learn about magic and fairies and flying while I stayed home.

"It took me a long time, Dudley." She looked at her son. "But I wised up. I accepted that I was normal, and that was a good thing. It was far better to live in a world where you belong, where things can be explained and there was no nonsense. The simple fact is, son, that normal people like you and I are far better off staying away from all that. We don't belong. And we shouldn't want to. Lily died because she got herself into a situation from which there is no protection. I don't want that for you."

Dudley's mother sighed. "When all this is over, we're going home. You're going to finish schooling and someday find a normal job and a normal wife and be grateful. Someday you'll see."

There was a long silence. Then Dudley spoke.

"You're wrong."

A tense moment passed. Then, in a high-pitched tone, Mrs. Dursley replied.

"I know you think you're an expert on things now, but you'll come to see. I've seen it happen over and over again! It's either renounce all this nonsense, or wind up at the mercy of Voldemort!"

CRASH.


End file.
